


the ruin of us

by just_liv



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, One Shot Collection, Post-Season 4, Shaw is back, and everything hurts, but the Machine is gone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:39:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4337810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_liv/pseuds/just_liv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root is not the same. It doesn’t take much for Shaw to notice it once she comes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ruin of us

**Author's Note:**

> Person of Interest doesn't belong to me, nor do its lovely ladies.

 

> “ _Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we’ll never get used to it._ ” - Richard Siken, Scheherazade.

 

.::.

Root is not the same.

It doesn’t take much for Shaw to notice it once she comes back.

It’s in the gleam of her eyes, whenever she gets lost in thought, mind miles away somewhere intangible, her body left behind like an empty shell. That’s when Shaw calls her name, and maybe is only the spark of recognition ignited by her voice, what brings Root back time and time again, with a hollow smile, pretending she was there all the time, pretending she’s whole.

It’s in the force of her grip, when long fingers dig in her skin, leaving marks not for the sake of it, not for pleasure or pain, but because she’s afraid to fall within herself, and in moments like this Shaw knows she’s the only thing, the only one, holding her still.

It’s in the silent hours of sleepless nights, when she moves quietly through the spacious loft they’ve come to share, socked feet and light steps making her presence almost imperceptible (if not for Shaw’s trained senses) while she drinks a walloping amount of coffee with legs dangling from the kitchen counter, her haunted eyes glistening over the city lights.

Shaw is not sure what she’s supposed to do then.

She’s never been any good at this, and maybe leaving would be an option, except for not being really, since a tiny part of her can’t help but feel responsible for leaving with the pin of the grenade in hands while all hell broke loose in her trail.

Talking doesn’t seem much of an option either. For starters she wouldn’t know what to say; or even what to do if Root suddenly decided to open up and set free whatever monster had been eating her away from inside out.

When her father died, little Sameen had found herself in a similar situation, watching her mother drift away in a haze of sadness, unsure and unequipped as to what step take next.  
She does now what she did then.

She cooks, makes sure Root eats, even if it’s tiny portions that couldn’t possibly be enough to feed a bird, let alone a grown person. Then she finds reasons for them to step outside. Bear is a great help with that, whenever she can borrow him, and once Shaw realizes Root is even more willing to join her, than to go by herself, that’s how it goes.

Even when the snow covers the pathway and chills them to the bones, they take long walks and then they find a café not far that serves amazing cappuccinos and that becomes an alternative as well, sometimes even a reward on the days in which the struggle is more palpable.

At night they fuck. With gusto and energy as if the world were about to end, and it isn’t exactly a sacrifice (not when she gets to feel the taste of Root on her fingers or the sharp pain of the bites that leave marks) but it’s also part of her plan because if she gets Root tired enough, then she’s more likely to sleep at least a few hours before sunrise.

It’s not a great plan, Shaw is aware of that, but it’s something, and it’s almost enough for a while.

That is, until she gets Finch’s message.

They are resurfacing.

The Machine may be gone, and their team in shambles, but the war isn’t over yet. The defeat of Samaritan only ever temporary - the A.I. proving to be not only a God, but a Hydra as well, with new heads popping up whenever they think the battle was finally over.

Much to her surprise, Root doesn’t have it in her, not this time around.

The thirst for blood and vengeance, the taste for violence, it’s just not there.

That’s when Shaw really sees it: the woman standing in front of her, a whisper of what once had been a battle cry.

“No.” Her voice trembles, as do her hands. “We can’t.”

“Root, what we can’t do is just turn our backs on Finch. This is Samaritan we are talking about.”

“I know damn well what it is.” Her accent slips only a little and Shaw has a hard time reconciling this person with the one she…

The one she came back for.

“Then you know how it goes.” She takes out her duffel bag from under the bed and starts packing and Root has never looked so lost, standing there in pajama pants that are too long and too loose over her frame and that white tank top that does nothing to cover her prominent bones.

“You can’t do this to me.” Her voice is barely a whisper, her eyes focused on an invisible spot on the brick wall.

Shaw looks at her then, like she’s speaking a foreign language, unable to grasp the meaning there.

She tries though, she really tries.

“Root, I know Samaritan took the Machine away from you. And that most of your wounds may never really heal. But this doesn’t change the fact that we’re still the only ones who can fight it.” She leaves the duffel bag behind, taking a small step in Root’s direction, trying to close the distance between the two of them.

It’s Root’s laugh what stops her on her tracks. The sound of it distant as a memory and distinctive in a way only one, who’s heard it before - not this counterfeit product, but the genuine item - could tell.

Her expression is marked by a sneer when the words escape her, bitter and almost in awe. “Are you really this blind?”

Apparently yes, and Root’s next action does little to clarify anything.

With an undecipherable expression, she takes a step forward, taking Shaw’s face in her hands and Shaw almost looses herself looking at those huge brown eyes, that seem ready to spill over her with warmth and something she can’t name it.

That’s when Root’s lips descend upon her own; claiming everything there is to her, full of passion, fire and desperation.

Like it’s their first time all over again.

Like it’s also their last.

A moan gets lost in the middle of them, and Shaw still has her eyes open, afraid she might lose the answers she so desperately wants in the blink of an eye.

Then Root breaks the kiss, foreheads pressed against each other, her breath ragged and warm against Shaw’s skin sending a shiver all through her body, like all her nerves are suddenly exposed to touch.

She has her eyes closed when the confession leaves her lips.

“It was not losing the Machine what broke me, Sameen.” A torn smile graces the corner of her lips ever so lightly. “It was losing you.”

With the force of her admission, Root steps back, holding herself with naked arms that seem inefficient to keep her either warm or protected, no longer a barrier between Shaw and the war that waits for them outside these walls.

Instead she watches Shaw zipping her bag in silence, both of them completely aware that there was ever only one way this argument would end.

On her way out, Shaw hesitates if only for a second, pulling the taller woman to her with one hand gripping her by the collar, while her mouth lands clumsily over the soft skin of her cheek, on the corner of her mouth.

Root offers no resistance and, among her possessions, Shaw takes the memory of her perfume and the taste of her tears.

She will make sure to come back.

She always does.

But it’s not lost on her the distinct impression that Root won’t be waiting for her this time around.

She is not the same, after all.

.::.


End file.
